


Wings and Windflowers

by NotEvenCloseToStraight



Series: Magic and Magnolias Verse [3]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Deaf Clint Barton, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Familiars, Grief/Mourning, Language of Flowers, M/M, Matt Fraction-inspired Clint Barton, Past Riley/Sam Wilson, Sam Wilson Feels, Sort Of, Soulmates, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Trust Issues, Wing Grooming, Wings, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenCloseToStraight/pseuds/NotEvenCloseToStraight
Summary: Back in the world of Magic and Magnolias--Sam is a wind!Witch who has let his powers lie dormant since losing his Avian!familiar Riley years ago. He's lost the ability to fly, has left his home on top of the mountains to live near the base of the bluffs, and when the windflowers bloom with the promise of hope, the witch goes out of his way to avoid them.Winged!Familiar Clint has never found a witch willing to stay with him. Permanently half shifted between his human and hawk form, Clint hides his deafness by talking over anyone who might notice, cracks jokes to hide the insecurity, and has never once used his magic to learn to soar.Paired together by the Madame witches, Sam and Clint have to learn to trust themselves, to trust each other, and to trust the winds that bring change and love to their lonely hearts.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Sam Wilson, Pepper Potts/Natasha Romanov
Series: Magic and Magnolias Verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052432
Comments: 47
Kudos: 199





	1. Chapter 1

The winds changed through the valley, bringing the heat of summer and the promise of long, sweltering days, and lazy, starlit nights. The residents of the little town opened their windows to the breeze, dragged chairs out to porches to sip lemonade in the afternoon shade, and the older tourists sequestered themselves in the motels to stay close to the sparkling pools and always stocked bar. 

The hiking trails were packed with more adventurous types who preferred nature to sidewalks and Main Street, any swimming hole within several miles was filled with screaming children and excitable adolescents, and the ice cream trucks went round and round the way selling sugary treats and popsicles. 

At _Magic and Magnolias_ , the summer wind stirred the hand crafted wind chimes to tinkling, ruffled the airy curtains in the shop, and spun the sun catchers in wild, rainbow circles. Around back in the private residence of the Madame Witches, every window was open to allow the breeze through their home, the fans were spinning quickly on the ceiling and while a visitor could never judge the weather based on Pepper’s clothing choices, one glance at Natasha was enough to prove the heat was _atrocious_. 

The usually buttoned up witch had traded her petticoats for a barely there wrapped skirt, button hook boots for flip flops, her stiff boned corset for-- for _nothing_ because it was so bloody hot even the thought of more clothing made Natasha want to scream. 

And well, _Tasha_ might have been miserable, but _Pepper_ certainly loved it. 

“Darling, sometimes I forget how much I enjoy the summer.” Pepper ran admiring fingers over Tasha’s bare shoulders and down to brush the curve of her breast. “Why aren’t you topless more often? You being topless is so much more fun than _me_ being topless, I think I’ll throw out your corsets after this. I much prefer you loose and free like this.”

“You wouldn’t dare throw my corsets away.” Natasha gathered her hair up on top of her head and blew out a frustrated breath. “You are slim and ridiculously perky, my love. I require a corset just to keep these ridiculous _things_ \--” an annoyed gesture to her chest. “--somewhere off my belly button.” 

“Your belly button!” Pepper laughed out loud and cupped her wife’s _assets_ in both hands. “Darling, they hang no where near your belly button. And if they did, I would still think you were a goddess.” 

“I’m certainly old enough to be a goddess.” the witch griped, and reached to adjust the tie of her skirt. “I don’t know how you wear clothes like this all the time, Pep. I’m practically naked!” 

“And yet somehow not naked enough.” Pepper unfolded the gauzy material at Nat’s little waist and shook it out to its full, nearly sheer length, then quickly retied it around her love’s chest. “There. At least you aren’t baring _all_ to the summer sun anymore.” 

“Thank you.” Tasha ran slow fingers through Pepper’s long hair where it lay over beautifully freckled shoulders and down far past her nipples to brush at her rib cage. “If _I_ resembled a wood nymph like you do, tall and supple and perfect, perhaps I wouldn’t mind so much.” 

“My love, you are flawless.” 

“Not half as flawless as you.” 

The witches laughed, pulled each other in for lingering kiss and just as Pepper was reaching to untie the bow she had only recently secured--

\--”Now it’s not in my nature to interrupt a once in a life time chance to see the most beautiful women in the world showing each other exactly _why_ they are the most beautiful women in the world…” 

The voice from the doorway was deep, slightly teasing but definitely tired, pitched low and sounding _exhausted_. Wind witches by nature were generally as easy going as the breeze that played at the curtains, light hearted because the wind itself kept them buoyant, rarely fatigued because they could stretch their magic into the air currents and use it to fly. They were the first to crack a joke, notoriously flirtatious, and damn near irresistible when they turned the charm on, but Sam… Sam wasn’t any of those things today. 

Today Samuel Wilson was not easy going, his world worn expression was far from light hearted, his shoulders slumped _exhausted_ liked he’d walked miles instead of floating through the gusts and gales. He was teasing the Madame witches, but there was very little energy in his words, no more than a hint of interest in his dark eyes as he watched them kiss. 

Sam Wilson was a wind witch pushed to the brink and too tired to take another step, and even the _air_ stilled around him as his magic failed to spark and stir the currents. 

“...but if I’m blinded by all that skin, I won’t be able to sign anything.” he finally finished with a half hearted smirk. “So why don’t you hold off on all that?” 

“Ah, Sam. You are taking all the fun right out of my afternoon.” Pepper readjusted Natasha’s dress so her love was covered, and turned with a ready- if not _worried_ \- smile to the witch. “How are you, darling?” 

“And why do you look tired?” Natasha clicked her tongue at Sam sympathetically, noting the sweat at his brow and the downward tilt to his lips. “The summer wind should have delivered you here promptly, surely you didn’t walk from the ridges?” 

“I don’t mind the hike.” Sam shrugged, looked away from the witch’s piercing gaze as if simply breaking eye contact would cover his lie. “Is the familiar here yet?” 

“I can assure you, if Clint were here, I wouldn’t have been a minute from undressing Natasha.” Pepper said over a short laugh, and went to get the other witch a cold bottle of water. “How are you feeling, Sam? We were surprised you accepted our invitation to meet with us and a familiar.” 

“I was under the distinct impression that when the Madame Witches invite you to make an appearance, it’s less of an invitation and more of a direct order.” he sank gingerly into one of the high back chairs and blew out a deep breath once he was settled, shifting like he was sore. “I figured it was in my best interest to reply in a prompt manner.” 

“Tell me.” Natasha took the water from Pepper and tossed it towards Sam. “You are always so polite and clear spoken. How many years will it be before your Air Force training wears off?” 

“Pretty sure it never wears off, ma’am.” Sam tried for a smile, but it came out more of a grimace. “You don’t do almost fifty years in the service and lose the habits over night. Or even over a decade.”

“No, apparently not.” Pepper came by with a tray of chocolate chip cookies, then reached to pluck a petal from Sam’s short hair. “You have windflower petals in your hair, love. Have you been gardening?” 

“They grow wild at the base of the bluffs.” Sam crushed the delicate petal between his fingers, smearing the faint color into his finger pads and onto his dark skin. “I don’t know if they spring up because of my magic or if someone before me planted them. They’re pretty, but useless. Can’t seem to get rid of them.” 

“Just because something’s entire purpose of existence is to be pretty doesn’t mean it’s useless.” Natasha gathered her gauzy dress up in folds so she could sit and cross her legs. “Why didn’t you ride the winds in, Sam?” 

“I don’t soar anymore.” Sam’s jaw clenched, gaze cutting sharp before the veteran made another visible, purposeful effort at relaxing. “I prefer the walk from the bluffs. It’s peaceful. Gives me time to think.”

That was another badly concealed lie but neither Natasha nor Pepper commented on it, only sharing a knowing, _heartbroken_ look over Sam’s head before tactfully changing the subject. 

“We should tell you a little bit about the familiar we’ve chosen for you.” Pepper cleared her throat and magicked one of those infamous scrolls from the air, plucking the silver thread and unrolling it on her lap. “It was a difficult decision, seeing as how wind witches are partial to a very specific set of familiars since the use of your magic requires both a compatible power and a compatible physical form. We didn’t want to choose anyone you would subconsciously see as a threat to the memory of Redwing--”

“His name was Riley.” Sam interrupted. “ _Riley_. Redwing was-- that was my nickname for him. Not yours.” 

“Apologies.” A flicker of something _comforting_ from the witch’s fingers, not quite glitter in the air but shimmery and relieving all the same. “As I was saying, we didn’t want anyone that would stir memories of Riley but we’re worried that moving forward with a grounded familiar will hinder your magic.” 

“You can’t open into the full power of wind when your familiar needs all four feet on _terra firma_.” Natasha clarified. “The only pairing that makes sense is to connect you with another Avian, someone to fly on the currents you create.” 

It _was_ the only pairing that made sense-- a wind witch with an Avian familiar, of course it made sense. But Sam’s eyes still went stormy gray at the thought of any Avian other than Riley taking place at his side, his jaw set and grip tightening on the chair. 

“I don’t want them.” 

“Sam—“ Pepper tried to interrupt but he cut her off, “I said I’d meet with the familiar, but not an Avian. I don’t want another Avian. Riley was the only one I trusted to soar alongside me and I don’t want anyone else.”

“Well, then you and Clint should work perfectly well together.” Natasha took over the conversation, her tone firm, green eyes glinting stubbornly. “You told us yourself you prefer not to ride the winds anymore, and neither does Clint. You are a wind witch who refuses the gales, he is an Avian who doesn’t fly. 

“He’s an Avian that doesn’t fly?” Sam asked in confusion, his own resistance weakening in wondering why a creature with actual wings would walk, brows lowering in a flash of unexpected sympathy for the familiar he had been so against just a moment before. 

The witch knew what it meant to not want to fly, to worry that maybe he couldn’t fly anymore, and it was crippling. An Avian who shared the same fear... “He doesn’t fly at all? Not even in full shifted form?”

“Not even in full shifted form.” Pepper plucked a feathered quill pen from...somewhere… and dipped it into an ink well that had suddenly appeared on the side table. “Now then. You’ve agreed to invite the familiar into your home, seeing as how Clint cannot cross your thresh hold without permission?” 

“Of course.” Sam held out his hands for the scroll so he could sign and initial as needed. “I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t going to let him into my home. Avian or-- or not, I suppose.” 

“You _suppose_?” Pepper asked, and Sam hesitated a second before nodding again. “Avian or not. They’re invited into my home. Of course.”

“You’d be surprised the reasons why we even have to clarify that particular rule.” Natasha snorted. “The younger witches new to the bond have no idea how intricate it all is-- permissions that are given before vulnerabilities are shared, even something as simple as a familiar only being allowed to enter the home of a willing witch, and a witch never being allowed to demand a familiar’s shifted forms. It’s embarrassing. New witches not being taught the old ways.” 

“Well hell, I’d go to school if it were _you_ two lovely ladies teachin’ class. Learn all those particular _old ways_.” Another interruption from the doorway, and this time there was nothing but laughter in the voice, laughter and more than a little _admiration_ in the easy pitch, and Sam’s hand stilled mid signing when the atmosphere stirred with the markers of Avian magic. 

“Clint.” Pepper’s usually serene features lit up into an unexpected smile. “I’m so glad you made it!” 

“You made it _late_.” Natasha stood up to greet the familiar, arms out for a hug the tall blond was all too happy to give. “If we _were_ teaching a class, I’d punish you all sorts of ways for being this tardy.” 

“Miss Tasha, I would be thrilled to let you punish me in every which way you want so long as you keep wearing this dress.” It was the flutter of feathers more than the surprisingly flirtatious reply that made Sam finally look up, and his eyes widened in shock when he saw the Madame Witch enfolded in a pair of strong arms and then massive _wings_ , golden brown feathers wrapping around the tiny witch and covering her from head to toe. 

“You are ridiculous.” Tasha informed the familiar from behind the wall of feathers and the big Avian-- _Clint_ \-- only laughed and hugged her up tighter, dropped a kiss on her head and then looked up to wink at Pepper and ask--

“How are you even standing right now? If Tasha was my witch and she wore a see through bit of nothing, my heart would give right out! I’d collapse in a useless heap in the floor!” 

“You are ridiculous.” Pepper blew Clint a kiss and made an attempt to free her wife from the heavy wings. “But I’m glad you made it. How are you today?” 

“Doin’ just fine.” Clint let Tasha go reluctantly, keeping his wings up and ruffed until the little redhead had readjusted her covering enough to be almost modest, and then folding the feathers back and away so he didn’t knock anything off the shelves. “Sorry I’m late. Little kid stopped and asked me if I was comic book character. Someone named _Hawkman_.” 

“And what did you say?” Pepper tossed the Avian a bottle of water. “Did you tell him that _Hawkman_ wished he was as cool as you?” 

“That’s exactly what I said.” Clint retorted, and both women giggled at him. “What a dumb name. _Hawkman_. Superheroes can only _wish_ they had wings like mine, all big and pretty and--” 

\--The familiar finally took his gaze off the women long enough to spot Sam, and whatever he’d planned to say about superheroes and dumb names went right out the window along with several pieces of paper and couple knick knacks that were brushed aside when his wings snapped abruptly _open_ , stretching out wide and high as Clint _stared_.

“Whoa.”

“...what’s up man?” Sam asked after a moment of doing his own staring, wondering at the polka dot bandage across Clint’s nose, marveling at the stretch of broad shoulders that held the impressive wings. “You never seen a wind witch before?” 

“Not one as good looking as you.” Clint said bluntly, and for just a split second, the air around them warmed as Sam’s power flexed in unmistakable-- if not unexpected-- _interest_. “I was all geared up to comment on how Pep only thinks her hair is hiding her nips, but now I think I’d rather just look at you.”

The air heated _again_ , flashing hot enough to make both the Madame Witches startle, and Clint waggled his eyebrows in playful anticipation when the witch turned to face him fully. 

“You’d rather look at me, huh?” Sam almost sounded like his old self when he put the quill down and folded his arms, tilted his chin and asked, “That why you’re all wing bonered up right now?” 

“To be fair, I thought all wind witches were old guy with beards and a walking stick.” Clint made no attempt to settle his _wing boner,_ if anything the familiar only cocked a knowing eyebrow and finished, “Not young and hot and rocking arms like cannons. I’m Clint, by the way.” 

“I figured as much.” Sam glanced away in a half-useless attempt to hide a growing smile, his initial and immediate resistance to another Avian familiar disappearing in light of Clint being.... well, _Clint_. “I’m Sam.” 

“So you’re supposed to be the wind beneath my wings, huh? Excellent.” the Avian shot actual finger guns at the witch, finally pulled his wings in just a little bit, then held out his hands for the silver bound scroll. “Let’s do this thing, where do I sign?” 

“Sign here, my love.” The Madame Witch Natasha clearly had a soft spot for the slightly goofy familiar, her smile almost adoring as she conjured up a pen and held the scroll steady so he could scribble out his name. “Pepper and I think you two will be a wonderful match. You will help each other fly again, I’m sure of it.” 

“He doesn’t fly?” Clint doodled a little heart on Natasha’s palm and then plunked a kiss on her forehead as she rerolled the scroll. “Sam, you don’t fly? That’s like the one cool thing about being a wind witch, right?” 

“I prefer to walk.” Sam deflected, his tone easy but his eyes shifting that troubled, stormy gray for half a second. “You do too, huh?” 

“It’s why I’ve got killer calves.” Clint answered faux seriously, twitching his wings away from his legs to offer the witch a glimpse at the aforementioned muscle. “Drop trou, let’s see your gams.”

“My trousers aren’t going anywhere.” It was the first time in a long time Sam had honestly wanted to _really_ smile at someone, and when he finally let his amusement slip through, he was rewarded with a wide grin from the familiar. “Why don’t you go ahead and keep yours on too. At least for right now.” 

“Eh. No promises.” The Avian’s feathers shuddered as Pepper crossed by him to tuck the scroll away in their customary hiding spot, Clint’s magic reacting to the sheer amount of _power_ around the lady witch. “The scroll thing says you’re supposed to take me home, but I want you to know I’m not the type of pretty bird that goes home with just anyone. You’re going to have to buy me a drink first.” 

Natasha tried and failed to quiet a laugh, and Pepper chuckled to herself when Sam stood and shot them both an incredulous yet _hopeful_ look. 

“This is your idea of a good match?” 

“Aw Sam.” Pepper kissed his cheek. “Buy him a drink and give it a chance, hm?” 

************

Later that night as the Madame Witches turned their lamps down and retired to bed, Pepper tapped at her bottom lip and asked, “Tasha. I didn’t expect Sam and Clint to be so obviously attracted to each other so quickly. Did you feel the way Sam’s power surged every time he looked at the familiar?” 

“Did I feel it?” Nat swept her hair back and set to work twisting it into a quick braid. “My love, the air heated so quickly I almost fried right there on the spot. I hadn’t expected it between the two of them, honestly the way Sam first reacted to the idea of another Avian had me half afraid he’d reject Clint outright. But Clint fluffed right out seeing Sam, and Sam about cooked us all alive with that bolt of horny.” 

“ _Horny_?” Pepper laughed out loud and flicked a hair tie towards her wife. “All these years you’ve refused to use the human’s slang, but _horny_ is suddenly acceptable?”

“And what about it?” Natasha huffed at her teasingly. “I’m halfway to ancient, Pep. I should be able to say whatever I'd like!” 

“Well your newly terrible slang aside…” Pepper’s green eyes glowed when Natasha simply magicked out of her clothes and climbed into the bed. “...it will be good for both of them to remember what it is to want and be wanted. Sam lost so much of himself when he lost Riley, and after Clint’s accident I don’t think he ever believed he’d ever find the right witch.” 

“He’s gone through almost as many as Tony did.” Natasha agreed. “Except Tony purposefully pissed everyone off--” 

“--and Clint never found anyone willing to stay with him.” the other witch finished quietly. “You know it’s interesting that the wind flowers grow wild at Sam’s place.” 

“No it’s not.” A twirl of Nat’s fingers and the moonlight mirrors above their beds rotated slowly, catching and refracting the minute light of a million stars into tiny rainbows above their heads. “The [wind flowers](https://florgeous.com/anemone-flower-meaning/) dance fragile in the lightest breeze, symbolize the grief of death but the hope of coming rains and the first winds of spring, which always brings new life. It is the perfect flower for a wind witch who has lost the will to soar, and an Avian who is too frightened to even try.” 

“Mmm.” Pepper nodded in agreement and drew her love in for a kiss. “You are wise beyond your years, darling.”

“Beyond my years.” Natasha scoffed. “The only thing older than me are the dragons in the hills, the Wizard Lee on the mountain tops and the damn dirt.” 

“The damn dirt.” Pepper laughed softly. “Well, you are _much_ prettier than the dragons and the dirt, and nearly as wise as the Wizard Lee. Sam and Clint will be an excellent match.” 

“Of course they will.” Tasha pulled the covers up and snuggled close with a contented sigh. “We are never wrong about these things.”

*************

**Chapter Notes:**

_Stuff about[WINDFLOWERS](https://florgeous.com/anemone-flower-meaning/)_

_Look, clearly I’m horny for NatPepper okay? Please give me beautiful women wandering around topless because it’s just too hot for clothes._

_Usually my Hawkeye is more Jeremy Renner but honestly post EG I’m really feeling Matt Fractions Hawkeye. Love me some big blond and goofy._

_Sam’s eyes going storm cloud gray when he’s upset? YES!_

_PS: If you didn’t laugh at the term “wing boner” you’re just lying to yourself. That shit’s hilarious._


	2. Chapter 2

Sam’s home was built right up against the base of the bluffs, sheltered from the brunt of winter weather and nearly hidden behind the full bloom of summer trees. Windflowers grew plentiful and colorful in fields stretching towards a lake in the distance, mountains loomed tall in the background and the cobblestone path winding its way to the over tall door of the wind witch’s house was scuffed and well worn, physical evidence that Sam had _truly_ turned his back on the breeze and never, ever soared anymore. 

“I feel like you could have saved yourself putting down a thousand of these fancy cobblestone things and just paved the walkway.” Clint tripped over an uneven stone for the third time in just a few minutes, and his wings snapped out wide to save his balance and keep him from falling. “I realize you’d lose the whole witchy aura thing using asphalt, but at least I wouldn’t be breaking toes on these crumbly ass rocks.” 

“Also?” Over the course of their hike from Magic and Magnolias, the Avian had proven _multiple_ times that he had no issue talking to fill the silence so when Clint finished one sentence and just rambled right into another one, Sam only sighed and kept walking. 

“ _Also_ , why are we walking? Pep and Tash say you don’t fly anymore but have you heard of cars? I feel like they were around even when your ancient butt gave up the wind, so why am I getting callouses on my otherwise beautiful feet when we could be vrooming around in an environmentally conscious Prius--”

“How old do you think I am, Clint?” Sam interrupted, and the familiar paused for a half second. “Cos this is the fifth time you’ve called me ancient since we met. How old do you think I am?” 

“Well-ll-ll--” Clint scratched at his chin thoughtfully. “The last wind witch I met was a _wildly_ geriatric two hundred and thirty years old. I figured you were right about there too?” 

“Because I’m wildly geriatric?” Damn it, Sam did _not_ want to laugh at being compared to a centuries old witch, but Clint had a wide eyed snarky way of talking that demanded an answering smile. “You think wildly geriatric witches have arms like mine?” 

“Your arms are very nice.” Clint didn’t skip a beat in agreeing but he certainly skipped a step _walking_ , and Sam got a bunch of feathers to the face as the Avian tumbled forward, wings out too late to stop him from scraping tender palms on the rocks, his bag of belongings tossed to the side as he fell.

“Damn.” The familiar got up slowly, slower than Sam would have expected from someone so full of energy, and the witch watched curiously as Clint _slowly_ straightened up and _slowly_ brushed the dirt from his hands and then pulled a band aid from his pocket and _slowly_ applied it across the scrape. He moved as if he couldn’t quite see what he was doing but that didn’t make any sense because Avian’s had perfect balance and perfect sight... didn’t they?

“Okay the new scratch on my hands sucks, so let’s talk about some pavement some time. Nice gradual slope, wide enough for my wings to open without high fiving a pine tree, huh?” 

“...what…” Sam looked back at the barely uneven stone the familiar had pitched over, at the bandaid on a scrape that should have healed with nothing more than a quick bump of Clint’s magic. “...what just happened right there?” 

“I tripped.” Clint ruffled up his feathers in a show of quick annoyance, his blue eyes narrowing defensively. “What, wind witches don’t trip?” 

“No.” Sam answered flatly. “No, we don’t. And neither do Avians. Controlling the air current means we wouldn’t even waver on a tight rope, but you’re over here falling all over yourself. What happened?” 

“Maybe I was distracted by your non geriatric ass and wasn’t watching where I was going.” the Avian’s feathers ruffed higher, a clear sign to _drop it_. “You gonna take me home or what? Let’s go already.” 

“Waiting on you, Stumbles McGee.” the witch sassed, but the attempt at a joke fell flat when Clint only turned away and stomped towards the house. Sam felt bad for not realizing the Avian would be sensitive about stumbling but-- but--

\--the thing was, Avian’s didn’t stumble. Wind witches didn’t trip. Everything _magic_ was graceful, the water witches moving like dancers, the earth witches existing in tune to the shift of the Earth Goddess, even power born from fire was elegant in its destruction. 

But wind witches and the familiars that shifted Avian were the physical embodiment of the phrase ‘light as air’ and they didn’t stumble. They didn’t trip. They were never off balance. They were hardly ever hurt because bumps and bruises didn’t happen to someone who moved with the air streams, and any injury cleared quickly because air was as healing as water. 

And yet Clint had fallen nearly half a dozen times since they left _Magic and Magnolias_ , tripped and stumbled, had to adjust which hand his bag was in, shift his weight constantly and basically been entirely clumsy for no discernible reason at all, and now he was hurt and not using his magic to heal and that was… _odd_. 

Clint was big for an Avian, and maybe that’s what made him clumsy. Most bird shifters were slight little things, delicate and fine boned, tall but lean or short and petite. But Clint stood eye to eye with Sam at over six feet tall, his shoulders broad and squared to hold those massive wings up. He looked _strong_ and his hands were calloused, pants stretched tight across thick thighs with each step and snug around his--

“Are you checking out my butt right now?” 

Sam jerked his head up and away from Clint’s ass, raising mortified eyes to find the Avian smirking at him from the door. “I-- I--” 

“Aw look at the wind witch blush.” Clint teased, wings flicking out playfully. “It’s okay, I have a nice butt. Good thighs too. It’s all the lunges I do in my free time. Just so you know, the first lecherous leer is free, but the next one’s gonna cost ya.” 

“I’ll be sure and toss some quarters at you next time.” Sam retorted, trying hard to ignore Clint’s knowing grin and the blush climbing higher up his neck. “Why are you still standing outside the door, I thought you wanted to get home. Go on.” 

The Avian had been waiting for permission to enter Sam’s home, and the witch knew that. No familiar could cross the threshold without a witch having removed the charms and granted permission but it was still a sign of respect to stop and _wait_. 

… a sign of respect and another chance for Sam to ~~ogle~~ observe Clint from behind as the Avian ducked through the door and disappeared into the living room, wings catching at the frame for a half second before tugging free. They were caught just long enough for Sam to notice how _tangled_ the feathers were, how several primaries were matted together and dull, while others had the too bright sheen of too much oil soaking the downy after feathers. 

It was unfortunate to see such beautiful wings in a state of disrepair, unfortunate and no doubt uncomfortable for Clint since he could most likely feel each and every shift and tangle when his wings rustled. Sam’s fingers itched for a moment with a long-forgotten urge to reach out and groom, to draw his hands through the feathers and carefully separate them, to arrange the barbs until everything fell just perfect. 

Riley used to love being groomed and Sam… Sam had loved to do it. Grooming was intimate, an act of both care and adoration, bonding between witch and familiar and for half a breath Sam thought about asking Clint if he could help…

_...no. No way._

“There’s a nest area over there.” Sam followed Clint into the house and inclined his head towards what looked like an empty closet with a ladder against the wall. “Ladder goes to a vented room I built on the roof. Vaulted ceiling, there’s a sliding glass door on one side so you can get in and out that way, and I stacked stones from the mountain around the other walls so it feels more secure.” 

“Uh--” Clint popped his head out of the second bedroom and glanced at the ladder. “Why a nest? Who lived here before me?” 

“No one.” Sam went right to the fridge to begin pulling out food for dinner. “I moved to this house--” _after Riley._ “-- when I didn’t have a familiar. Just figured if I ever got another one, they’d be Avian, so the nest would get used either way.” 

“Well sweet.” the Avian got his bag again and headed right for the ladder. “Guess I’ll sleep there then. What’s for dinner? Don’t say bird seed or I’ll peck your eyes out.” 

“Oh it’s like that, is it?” Sam pulled out some chicken and dropped it on the counter with a thwack. “How about some poultry? That’s pretty much the opposite of bird seed, right? Or is it an ashes to ashes, the egg came first thing for you people?”

“You people.” Clint laughed over his shoulder as he climbed up the ladder, and Sam noticed but didn’t comment when the Avian bumped his head and cursed. “ I feel like this makes me a bad Avian, but I love chicken.” Duck too. The more quacks the better.” 

“The more quacks…” the witch sighed and pulled out some bread crumbs and seasoning. “All the damn Avians in the world and I get the one who makes non stop terrible jokes. Excellent.” 

Almost immediately, Sam felt bad for saying it and glanced up at the roof wondering if Clint had heard. Avians had excellent vision and notoriously good hearing and the Madame Witches would be disappointed if this match failed on night one just because Sam couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 

“Uh--” Just in case Clint _had_ heard him, the witch cleared his throat and tried again. “Sorry if you heard that, Clint. I didn’t mean anything real by it. You just make terrible jokes. No harm no foul.”

It was a wasted effort on Sam’s part-- the Avian familiar hadn’t heard his initial comment or the follow up apology. In fact Clint hadn’t heard anything at all once he’d climbed the ladder to the nest above the house. Avians _did_ have excellent hearing, and hawk-shifters had better than most but Clint-- Clint couldn’t hardly hear a thing at all. 

Not today, not yesterday, not for _years_. 

It had been a long day of carefully reading lips, or guessing the ends to sentences and interrupting before Sam finished so Clint could hide the fact that he’d lost track halfway through and didn’t hear the rest. The Avian’s sense of balance had been compromised by the same incident that took his hearing, but no one knew _that_ was the reason he kept his wings out all the time. No one knew Clint’s magic had been damaged before he’d even had a chance to use it, and that’s why he didn’t heal quite right, why he was constantly covered in band aids. 

There was a lot nobody knew about the Avian familiar Clint, and as he stood on the roof of his new witch’s house and opened his wings out wide, pulled every bit of limited magic from his core and stretched his senses to feel the thrum of wind power in the house, Clint realized there must be a lot no one knew about _Sam_ either. 

What sort of witch would let his power lapse to the point of near blankness? Clint couldn’t feel _anything_ from Sam, not magic, not the presence of air, not even the weight of _power_ that always thickened the atmosphere around those in tune with the wind. 

Another moment of stretching and searching and Clint finally let his wings drop again, flopped down onto the circular bed that took up most of the nest room and started absentmindedly pushing blankets around to make room. 

...maybe an awkward familiar like him would be well suited for a witch that didn’t seem to want to be a witch anymore. 

***************

In most cases, the process of a familiar and witch getting to know each other was careful, cautious, almost ritualistic in the way they had to learn each other’s magic and how it would affect their own, how they would observe each others powers and try to avoid the almost always unavoidable triggers that came from decades and maybe even centuries of possessing the sort of magic humans only dreamt of. 

In most cases, the bond between a well paired familiar and witch sparked almost immediately, complementary magic binding them together faster than love or familial ties ever could. 

In most cases, the bond flared so bright that familiar and witch found themselves in bed together, twisted round each other and grasping tight, searing soul deep longing into every kiss as they learned what it was to be known by someone else who was created like they were created.

By someone else who was beautiful the way they were beautiful. 

By someone else who knew what it meant to be lonely the way they were lonely. 

A witch and a familiar were _always_ lonely, until they found each other, and then they weren’t.

In most cases, a witch and familiar would spend the early days together talking, experimenting, maybe even meditating with foreheads pushed together and magic mingling in rainbows above their heads. In the case of pointedly matched pairs, when a match maker had to summon them both and require a contract signed, those first few days were usually spent arguing as both tried to overcome whatever trauma had led them to needing the help of a matchmaker. In the worst cases-- usually involving hexes doled out by a sorcerer-- it took months for a matched pair to find balance together, months longer for them to co exist in peace, months _longer_ for their magic to finally bind and strengthen them both. 

The wind witch Samuel and Avian familiar Clint were _not_ most cases. 

“Hey, good morning.” This morning Sam came outside wearing just his favorite worn pair of jeans, side stepped a patch of windflowers that had inexplicably bloomed during the night and raised his hand in a wave towards Clint. “You sleep okay?” 

There was no answer from the familiar standing with wings and arms outstretched to the sun, and Sam gave himself only a minute to appreciate the way the morning light glinted golden across Clint’s skin before raising his voice and calling, “Clint! You sleep okay man? Enough room in that nest for those big ol’ wings?” 

No answer, and even though Sam was pretty sure Clint wasn’t purposefully ignoring him, the familiar was just snarky enough to _definitely_ be ignoring him, so the witch called up a breeze that was just a notch below hurricane and sent it whipping towards the Avian. 

“Ack!” Clint shrieked, arms waving wildly and feathers sent puffing out all over the place when the wind about took him off his feet, sending him tumbling into the flowers. “What the hell!” 

“When a guy tells you good morning?” Sam tried hard not to laugh when Clint popped up spitting feathers. “Maybe you say it back.” 

“When a guy’s meditating, maybe you don’t flatten him with a nor’easter!” the familiar snapped back, shaking out his feathers and plucking a few flower petals from his mouth. “Can’t a bird enjoy the sun without Tornado Sam getting jealous?” 

“Not jealous of you sun bathing.” Sam denied. “Just came out to see let you know I made breakfast, if you eat that sort of thing.” 

“Best part of waking up.” Clint turned too fast and stumbled, threw his wings out to catch himself and finished, “Folgers in your cup. You remember that commercial?” 

“Unfortunately, it’s the jingle that never dies.” Sam watched for another minute as Clint found his balance. “You alright?” 

“Tell me something.” the Avian had a fresh bandaid across his knuckles this morning. “Do you wear a push up bra to make your chesticles stand up that perky, or does it have to do with your wind magic?” 

Clint mimed a bra under his own chest and raised both wings and eyebrows. “Don’t get me wrong, I like it but it’s a little distracting.”

“You done?” Sam folded his arms and fought against a grin when the Avian’s wings snapped up and open in response to flex of biceps and sure, the maybe intended additional lift to his pecs. “Cos as cute as those wing boners are, I’d rather not have to hear the word _chesticle_ ever again.” 

“Eh.” Clint shrugged and flicked a few flowers at Sam as he passed by to get back inside the house. “Maybe you don’t walk around tiddies out then.” 

No, Clint and Sam were not most cases at all. 

“You wanna stay warm out here, you gotta chop wood.” Sam told Clint one day, because instead of practicing magic, he was more concerned with being prepared for the winter. Wind witches preferred to live mostly off grid even if they’d foregone using most of their powers, and Sam was no different. There was no television in his house, no appliances other than an oven and small fridge/freezer for food, air conditioning of course came by way of the wind and heat was courtesy of the river rock fire place along the far end of the wall. 

“Sam, it’s a hundred degrees outside.” Clint made a face when he saw the trees waiting to be sawed into rounds and then chopped into useable pieces. “Why are we chopping wood for a winter that is eight months and eighty degrees away from right now?” 

“You want to practice magic instead?” the witched asked bluntly, and when Clint didn’t quite manage to hide a flinch, Sam nodded. “That’s what I thought. Get to chopping. You wanna stay warm this winter, show me what those arms do.” 

“I’ll show you what these arms do.” The Avian muttered, held his wings back out of the way and heaved on one of the axes. “First one through their tree makes dinner?” 

“Sure.” Sam lifted his favorite axe, the one weighted to almost impossible standards, made lighter by the barest bit of air currents he kept swirling round the wood pile, but still heavy enough to wear him out. “I like homemade pizza, deep dish, pepperoni and if you even think about opening a can of pineapple anywhere near my pizza, I’ll pluck your feathers and use them in a new pillow.” 

“Fair.” Clint set up a chunk of wood on the splitting log. “I like steak, medium rare, potatoes and any vegetable that isn’t green, some dinner music that includes a heavy baseline and a Chippendales style after supper show. Thanks.” 

“Chippendales, huh?” The first log split with a satisfying crack, and Sam tossed the two pieces towards the wood pile to be stacked later. “That’s an awful _human_ reference, didn’t think an Avian would know that one.” 

“You think cos I got feathers, they don’t let me in to see the pretty boys shake their Thunder Down Under?” Clint swung his ax without looking, staring straight at Sam and smirking when the blade connected with a _thunk_ and the piece cut right down the middle. “Hell, with eye sight like this I don’t need to be anywhere near the stage to see that goodness. I watch it long range like a creeper.”

“That’s pretty damn creepy, but it had nothing to do with your eyesight or your feathers.” the witch grunted, the corner of his mouth tipping in a smile. “I just know most familiars grow up in the community away from humans, and especially Avians since you have a harder time hiding your shift as you grow up. How do you know about Chippendales?” 

“I get around a lot, hear a thing or two.” Another log perfectly split without the Avian so much as blinking. Clint might be clumsy but there was nothing wrong with his hawk-like vision, and as Sam met his eyes steadily, the blue gaze flickered yellow and then _narrow_ as the familiar shifted just a tiny bit more towards bird. “What do _you_ know about Chippendales? Wind witches are kept tight in the community just like Avians. What gives with you recognizing my slightly horny reference?”

“I wasn’t raised in the community.” Sam went back to work, both unsettled by the flicker of Avian in Clint’s eyes and almost comforted by the pulse of familiar magic. “I’m the only one in my family who presented with magic, so I was raised human right along with everyone else.” 

“A wind witch raised human?” Clint whistled under his breath. “Sounds like you spent a lot of time hiding.” 

“Every minute of my life.” The witch answered shortly. “Puberty was hard enough without blowing the shutters off the house every time I sneezed. Had a hard time blending in until I moved to Chicago.” 

“Chicago.” Clint repeated, and then-- “The windy city? Are you kidding me with that Dad-level joke right there?” 

Sam grinned, and went right back to working. “Remember, no pineapple on my pizza.” 

“Yeah and I want a show with my dinner.”

That night they had pizza, deep dish, pepperoni, and there was an entire can of raw pineapple dumped on Sam’s half.

“Bitch.” Sam muttered as he scraped the whole mess into the trash, and Clint retorted, “Jerk.” as he wrapped his knuckles in antiseptic and clean gauze. 

“Who knew Avians were such sore losers?”

“Who knew wind witches were axe lightening little cheaters?” 

Chopping wood was a daily chore, right along with the dishes because Sam didn’t own a dishwasher, the laundry because the witch preferred his clothes hung on the line to dry, and yard maintenance because despite Sam’s best efforts of creating soothing meditation circles with rocks from the mountain and the river, new wind flowers sprang up every night and disrupted the patterns. 

“If I were a betting man, I’d think the North Wind nymphs are jealous you're trying so hard to convene with the Earth goddess.” Clint groused one day as he carefully uprooted and moved a spot of flowers. “Stop playing footsie with rocks and let these things grow, man.”

“North wind nymphs?” Sam asked skeptically. “Earth Goddess? Really?” 

“I’m just saying.” Clint’s wings shaded the flowers from the too hot glare of the sun as he moved another patch away from the rocks. “Stop messing around in the dirt and spend some time soaring with the air currents and maybe you wouldn’t be plagued by these completely wind witch related flowers.” 

“Are you giving me advice on how to handle my magic?” the air around them dropped a few degrees closer to frosty, the sharp edge of the breeze matching the sharpness in Sam’s tone. “You don’t fly much these days either, Clint. Maybe you just let that topic go.” 

“I don’t fly these days.” the Avian agreed easily, a there-and-gone wrinkle of sadness crossing his handsome features. “But I’ve never actually flown at all. The North Wind nymphs can’t be mad at me for abandoning a skill I’ve never had. You on the other hand…” Clint gestured to the everything that was Sam’s body, from big shoulders down to strong hands and long legs. “Put a cape on you, and you’d be Black Superman. You’re clearly made to fly. So what gives? Why are you Earth bound?” 

“You’ve never flown?” Sam answered instead, and Clint snorted, “Excellent deflection of the question. Bravo.” 

“Seriously.” A beautiful piece of smoky quartz completed the swirl in the middle of Sam’s circle and he dusted his hands off in satisfaction at having the display complete again. “You’ve never flown. Not once?” 

“Not once.” the furthest tip of Clint’s primaries brushed the ground as he used his left wing to balance before leaning over for more potting soil for the displaced flowers. “To be honest, I’m not sure I’m missing anything. You gave it up pretty quick, how good could it be?” 

_Incredible_. Sam thought, but didn’t say it. Flying had been _incredible_ , it had been like freedom and even in the war when he wore the exoskeleton along side Riley, even _that_ artificial flight had been incredible. The witch missed flying every day but the crippling fear of misjudging the air currents and failing _again_ had kept his feet on the ground for years now. 

But Clint…

“Hey.” Sam said as Clint turned away to retrieve some more flowers. “Hey, how come you’ve never flown? Why do you wear your wings out if you haven’t ever wanted to fly?” 

There was no answer from the Avian, and Sam took it for the hint he thought it was-- _drop the topic_. 

Clint went on planting, unaware the witch had spoken again, wings curled tight sheltering the fragile flowers and missing the curious probe of magic as Sam stretched his senses and tried to understand. 

_How could an Avian never want to fly?_

***********

“Darling, have you heard anything from Sam or Clint?” Pepper finished wrapping a delicate porcelain figure for a customer and waved them out the door with a smile. “It’s been a week and I haven’t gotten so much as a whisper of gossip on the breeze.” 

“Neither have I, but I’m not worried about it.” Natasha had settled on a garment partly between her usual corsetry and the sheer material Pepper had wrapped her in for Sam and Clint’s visit, something gathered in all the right places and flowing lovely in all the others, and it swished around her feet as she came to stand on her tip toes to kiss her wife. “But you should tell me why _you_ are worried about it.” 

“I’m worried because every other pair we’ve matched absolutely flooded us with complaints the first few weeks.” Pepper admonished. “Because it took Bucky and Tony months to stop complaining about each other, because Thor and Steve literally had water fights that ended with Thor just about drowning and that feisty snarky water witch getting held down by a giant Lion’s paw until he stopped.” 

“Then perhaps you should be relieved Sam and Clint aren’t battling in the clouds and sending tornados to tear up our valley.” 

“I am worried because the fact that they _aren’t_ sending tornados means they haven’t tried to match their magic.” Pepper’s worry _surged_ , and the walls of their beautiful shop quaked on their foundation. “I am worried because if they aren’t trying to match their magic, then our attempt at pairing might be too late, might be in vain!” 

“My love--” 

“Sam is a wind witch who is grieving so badly he cannot even find it in himself to use the wind for more than drying his laundry.” Pepper snapped, and the windows splintered beneath her tone. “Clint was hurt so badly he’s never even felt the air through his wings, he can’t even be all of himself because of someone else’s cruelty. How can you not be worried?!” 

“I’m not worried.” Natasha rearranged the shattered pieces of glass with nothing more than a wave of her hand, staining it red and purple and blue with her magic until it turned the sunlight into rainbows around their home, settled the walls with a quick tap of her foot, settled her _wife_ with a brush of fingers over porcelain skin and the smattering of freckles dusting Pepper’s nose. “And you shouldn’t be either.” 

“Why?!” 

“First of all, I’m going to acknowledge the fear inside your tender heart.” The Madame witch murmured soothingly. “I know every one of our matches are very important to you, and I know that since Sam’s powers run very close to your origins as a wind witch, you hurt for him more than you did the others. Clint is very dear to me and of course I want him to find his magic, of course I hurt that he isn’t able to shift. I understand, my love.” 

Pepper didn’t answer, and Natasha pressed gently, “I am _not_ worried because Sam and Clint are different than our usual pairs. Tony needed to break his hex and Steve needed someone to trust with the full scope of his power. Thor desperately needed a place to rest and Bucky needed an escape from his nightmares. But neither Sam and Clint need an escape from anything. They don’t need their magic strengthened, or powers amplified.” 

“Alright then.” Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “What do they need?” 

“A friend.” Tasha said simply. “Sam and Clint need a friend to meet them where they are and not expect a single iota more. Clint cannot fly and Sam will not fly and they need someone to accept exactly that with no explanation and no expectations. Our other matches have needed someone to draw them out, Sam and Clint don’t.”

“But the bond--” 

“--is sacred and beautiful and all consuming.” One of Natasha’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “And the way those two stared at each other leaves little hope that it might stay platonic. But first they need a bond of friendship and acceptance of each other’s trauma, whether they choose to talk about it or not. You know Clint would rather joke about his loss than ever confront them. And Sam is so good at deflecting, he manages to offer hope to everyone else when his own heart remains broken. They need someone to meet them here at this point, then the magic will come along too.”

“Letting their magic twine would hurry the process.” Pepper countered. “They should be _trying_.” 

“The magic will come.” Natasha repeated when Pepper still looked unsure. “One day they will fly together, I promise. First they must be friends and the magic will follow.” 

*******

“First you lay the bread crumbs, then the duckies come for lunch.” Clint sang under his breath tunelessly as he kneaded at the dough for their bread. Two weeks of living with Sam meant that bread making duties were rotated just like all the other chores, and today was his day. “Then you get the stuffing and you stuff them up a bunch. Then you get the oven and you invite them in for tea, then you shut the door and--”

“Yeah, I’m going to have to stop you right there.” Sam cut in before the Avian’s song got any more awkward, butting into Clint’s space with all the familiarity of a too comfortable roommate, hip checking the familiar out of the way and poking at the dough to test the consistency. “How about you, a bird, doesn’t talk about luring ducks, also birds, in to eat them for lunch.” 

“You were raised in the human world.” Clint scoffed, and mixed in another handful of flour before taking over the kneading again. “You know all nursery rhymes basically have the creepiest, darkest messages ever set to cutesy little melodies. There’s nothing wrong with my song.” 

“There’s everything wrong with your song, it’s the most horrifying thing I’ve ever heard, and also, there’s feathers in the bread.” Sam reached over Clint’s shoulder and plucked a feather from the mix. “You need a hair net.” 

“Sorry about that, I probably need a hairnet.” Clint tucked his wings further back, and Sam didn’t comment on the fact that the familiar clearly hadn’t heard him. “Feathers are all twisted up, they come out a lot more that way.” 

“Want me to groom them?” the question was out there before Sam even realized it, the offer more instinct than conscious thought, and when Clint didn’t respond the witch was sort of grateful. Just because the last few weeks living together had been great... _ly_ filled with snark and sarcasm and the sort of companionship Sam hadn’t realized he was missing-- just because he and Clint had become sort of weirdly compatible _friends_ didn’t mean he needed to offer to do that. 

_No way, not yet._

“What’s up with you calling the Madame Witches Nat and Pep?” Sam asked later, after his self imposed awkwardness over the grooming question had faded and they were sharing thick slices of homemade bread together. “How are you so casual with them?” 

“Casual?” Clint waited until Sam’s mouth had stopped moving before answering. “I dunno if it’s casual. They’re just gals being pals right? No reason to stand on formalities.” 

“Formalities?” Sam put his bread down and made sure he was enunciating clearly. “Clint, those two _gal pals_ could fry you for Sunday dinner and eat you with a side of mashed potatoes with a snap of their fingers. They’re two of the most powerful witches in the world, just a step below the sorceress Margaret. Natasha is old enough to have practiced her magic with the dragons and Pepper is the sort of wind witch that the old gods used to unleash cataclysms.” 

“Yeah, they’re great.” Clint licked jam off his fingers. “What about it?” 

“You aren’t scared of them?” Sam wanted to know. “Not even fearful in the respectful sort of way?” 

“I mean, I’d never call them Lady Reds and lay on their furniture like Thor does.” the Avian pointed out. “And I’d never sass them the way Tony does, the damn cat’s lucky he’s not stuffed and put on display in their shop. But nah, I’m not scared. They weigh a hundred pounds combined and when they get mean, I can just tickle them like a feather duster. No big deal.” 

“No big deal.” the witch huffed. “Sure.” 

“I can see how it would be a bigger deal to you.” Clint reached for his water. “Being raised outside the community and all. But Avians-- we see all sorts of crazy magic. I’m not saying I wouldn’t crap myself if I ever saw Nat and Pep unleash, but for the most part it’s fine.” 

“Huh.” Sam chewed through a slow bite of the slightly tough bread. Clint had picked up on bread making quickly, but they definitely needed to have a talk about how much salt went into it. “Clint.” 

No answer from the familiar, whose head was down as he slathered more jam on his piece. 

“Clint.” The witch sent a puff of air to stir the familiar’s wings until Clint looked up. “Hey.” 

“What?” 

“How uh--” Sam cleared his throat. “How long have you been deaf, man?” 

Clint’s wings snapped open fast enough to push his chair skidding backwards, the Avian jumping to his feet and sending his plate clattering, skin first paling in shock and then flushing red in embarrassment. “Fuck you, don’t ask me stuff like that.” 

“No don’t--” Sam got up too, shook his head and held his hand out comfortingly. “Don’t get mad, don’t run. I’m not trying to mess with you, I’m just asking. How long have you been deaf?” 

“How long have you known?” Clint fired back, immediately on edge and almost angry over how defensive he got. It had been a long time since anyone had asked him about his hearing and a dozen past instances of being found out and then left behind by a witch that didn’t want the _inconvenience_ made his throat close up thick. “Did the witches tell you? 

“No one told me.” Sam had messed up, and he knew it immediately, lowered his voice to something apologetic. “And I don’t mean anything bad by asking, I’m just curious.” 

“Well why the hell are you curious?!” Clint’s hands jerked in what might have been sign language, but he caught himself at the last minute and put his hands back down. He’d trained in sign language for years before realizing that most witches didn’t want to bother learning, so he’d stopped. It just highlighted his disability and he hated that. 

...he hated how other people, how other _witches_ hated that.

“It’s inner ear damage, right?” Sam pointed to his own ears. “I used to see it in some of the para-rescuers in my group. Too fast a fall, too hard a hit if their chute didn’t open just right. They’d be dizzy, sometimes nauseous for no reason, usually affected their hearing too. Same with you?” 

Clint swallowed hard, scratching self consciously at his nose and the ever present band aid from where he never quite stopped bumping into things. “Something like that. Sure.” 

_Nothing like that._

“It’s why you don’t fly.” Sam realized a split second later, the explanation both making sense and breaking his heart all at the same time. “You can’t trust your balance on the winds so you stay grounded. You leave your wings out to counter act your dizziness and to act as another sense because your hearing is so compromised.” 

“You done with that now?” Clint folded his arms, ruffed his wings up defensively. Sam was completely right and completely _wrong_ all and every single thing that had been light hearted about the last two weeks, every second Clint had been grateful to finally have some companionship went right out the window in a wash of self loathing and a tiny wiggle of fear that this was the first step to Sam deciding he wasn’t _worth it._ “You done psychoanalyzing me?” 

“I’m not psychoanalyzing you.” Sam shook his head, called his power to run soothing over Clint’s shoulders, a gentle wind to smooth the frown between the Avian’s brows. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, Clint. I’m just asking. Just trying to figure it out. Trying to figure out why you haven’t bonded with a witch before now, especially since the right one would give you your flight back.” 

“Pep told me you work as a counselor some times.” The Avian backed up a step, backed up again. “I don’t need counseled, Sam.” 

“Hell man, I’m not trying to--” 

“Witches don’t want me.” Clint spat then, and his eyes narrowed yellow, _vicious_ as his mostly dormant powers surged forward and grew his nails into talons, years of bitterness turning his usually goofy grin into a grimace. “But thanks for letting me know the right one would help me fly. I definitely hadn’t ever thought of that before.” 

“That’s crazy, thinking a witch doesn’t want you.” It was physically painful for the witch to suddenly see just how much Clint was hiding beneath his jokes and blase attitude. “You and me are having a great time, why wouldn’t a witch want you?” 

“What sort of witch wants a familiar who can’t shift and unleash their full power?” the Avian demanded, and before Sam could focus on the ‘ _can’t shift_ ’ instead of the ‘ _won’t shift_ ’-- “I take up a bunch of room wherever I go. Can’t hear directions or invoke spells if I’m not looking right at someone. I’m clumsy. I’m damaged and even though I see you laughing at my jokes, my sense of humour is terrible. What sort of witch wants a familiar that is basically deadweight? Who’s a burden?” 

“Clint--” Things had gotten out of control so fast, Sam was having a hard time processing it. “Now hold on--”

“Clearly the only person that would want me is a witch who’s too much of a pussy to fly anymore.” the words were spiteful, hurting and cruel and Sam reeled back from them even though he knew-- he _knew_ Clint was reacting out of his own internalized pain. “That’s why they matched us up, you know. You and me are basically useless. You won’t fly, I can’t fly, we’re pretty much humans these days.”

“That’s why we fit.” Clint sniffed, turned on his heel and nearly lost his balance, banged his wings against the table as he tried to right himself again. “ _That’s_ why we fit. It’s easy to check each other out and argue about whether pineapple goes on pizza when there’s no real magic in either of us anymore, huh?” 

“Clint.” the air went very still around them, Sam’s heart thudding painful in his chest. “I wasn’t-- I didn’t mean to--” 

But Clint was already walking away, maybe not hearing, maybe not _caring_ that Sam was trying to apologize. 

...that night not even a breeze blew around the witch’s house as what was left of their combined power slowed, faltered, and faded.

...And in the apartment behind Magic and Magnolias, Pepper woke up gasping for air, a hand to her chest as the magic of another wind witch shifted towards _black_. 

“Darling?” Natasha stirred sleepily. “What is it?” 

“It’s Sam.” Pepper whispered. “Something’s wrong with Sam and Clint.” 

“It’s alright.” the smaller redhead curled in close again. “It will be fine, Pep. Give them a chance to be friends before we rush in meddling. Even the best of friends argue. Give them time, the windflowers are still blooming in the fields, the season for hope hasn’t passed.”

_...give them time._

_***********_

**Chapter Notes:**

_So originally this fic was meant to be the most light hearted of the series, but I kept thinking about how Clint being HOH would affect how he was perceived as a familiar-- they are supposed to be companions and a way for a witch to enhance their own magic, so a familiar that couldn’t even access their OWN magic on top of needing to be accommodated in other ways ie: a constant spell to restore their hearing, or learning telepathy or sign language to communicate would be considered a burden._

_Feeling like a burden when others are treated like a blessing would really wear on Clint, feeling as if he takes up too much space because he needs his wings as an aid, the way he tries to compensate by interrupting sentences to guess the ending instead of giving away the fact that he can’t hear by having to ask “what” over and over... idk guys I’m just feeling things about deaf!Clint right now._

_Especially that line where he says he’s “basically human” as if not being ‘perfect’ means he’s not even worth the title of Familiar. And Sam trying to ask but sort of saying all the wrong things... my heart ughhhhh_

_Are you guys catching the hints to Nat and Pepper’s scope of powers? the mention of dragons?? how Pepper is a wind witch?! In the business we call that FORRRRRRRRRRESHADOWINNNNNNNNNNG!_

_But also beyond all the angst, aren’t Sam and Clint funny together? I love their vibe._


	3. Chapter 3

It was late morning the next day before the Avian came down from his nest. Sam was putting away the last of the bread from breakfast, but he pulled a few slices back out when he saw Clint, slathered them in butter and tossed them on the griddle to fry up with an egg or two. 

Clint liked his eggs with a pinch of salt, a gross amount of pepper and a sprinkle of cheese so the witch pulled those ingredients out as well, set about making the familiar breakfast without even being asked. 

And after a moment of somewhat tense silence-- “It’s not fair you cook with your shirt off. How am I supposed to stay mad at you when you look like shiny chocolate?” 

Sam flipped the bread, stirred the eggs and then turned around with a half smile, waiting until Clint looked up to answer, “Shiny chocolate? You tryin’ to say I look greasy this morning?” 

“I’m trying to say I wanna lick you up a little bit.” Clint was complaining but there wasn’t any heat in the words, his wings were ruffled up around his shoulders, but he was slumped lazy rather than angry over the table. “I’m um-- I’m sorry about last night.” 

“Yeah.” Sam poked at the bread but kept facing forward so Clint could see his lips moving the entire time. “Yeah Clint, I’m sorry too. Honest, I wasn’t trying to mess with you or anything. I just wanted to know, and there are better ways to ask those sort of questions.” 

“There’s probably better ways for me to react too.” the Avian admitted begrudgingly. “I didn’t have to flip you off or call you all those names.” 

“You didn’t flip me off.” Sam objected, and when Clint only wrinkled his nose, he sighed, “You flipped me off, didn’t you?” 

“A _lot_.” 

“I probably deserved it.” the witch ran a hand over his closely shorn scalp and then sighed again. “Clint I uh-- I’ll learn, if it makes things easier for you. You let me know which variation you learned on since you’re a little older than me and I dunno how that sort of thing has changed in the last hundred years, but you let me know how you prefer it and I’ll learn.” 

Clint waited until a plate full of eggs and toast landed in front of him. “You’ll learn _what_ , witchy boy?” 

“Sign language, bird brain.” Sam clarified. “What variation of sign language would you like me to learn?” 

The Avian’s eyes widened, then narrowed, nails drumming anxiously on the tabletop for a minute. “Why-- why would you do that?” 

“So we can talk without you having to work so hard to hear every word?” Sam tossed the pan in the sink, then tapped the chore chart that specified it was Clint’s day to do the dishes. “So you don’t have to do that intense thing where you stare at my mouth? Full disclosure, I thought it was cos you liked my lips or something. Less exciting to realize you were tryin’ to figure out what I was saying.” 

“Nah, I like your mouth just like I like them tiddies.” Clint flushed a little when the air around them warmed, the wind witch flexing just a tiny bit of power in response to the compliment. “But it’s mostly so I can follow what you’re saying.” 

“So.” Sam raised his eyebrows. “Sign language?” 

“Why um--” the familiar hesitated. “Sam, I know you don’t really do magic anymore, but why don’t you just do a spell to give me hearing? It can’t be all that hard to fix your familiar, right? Wouldn’t that be easier?” 

“I could probably wrangle up a spell to fix my familiar.” Sam agreed quietly, and then firmly, “ _If_ my familiar was broken. Are you broken, Clint?” 

“...no.” Clint swallowed a too big bite of egg and looked back down at his plate. “No I’m not broken. Sign language is good. I just use the standard. Just standard American Sign Language.” 

Sam rapped at the table till Clint glanced back up again, then nodded. “I’ll start working on it.” 

“I don’t mind the whole air puff thing, either.” Clint added after another minute, the first snarky smile of the morning hinting at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll even start wearing a skirt. A light breeze betwixt the balls might be nice.” 

Sam almost died over an inhale of water and while the Avian cackled over his utterly terrible sentence, the witch decided, “Why don’t you just shut the hell up and eat your eggs, huh? _Sheesh_.” 

******

It was easy to get back to ‘normal’ when ‘normal’ for a non-magic practicing witch and familiar included chores, making bread and not-subtly checking each other out. 

“Keep staring, I’m charging you for every damn leer.” Clint called from his spot in the garden, hacking at a weed that had to be the _mother_ of all weeds absolutely refusing to be pulled. “You’ll get a bill at the end of the month and I expect to buy a damn TV with all the money.” 

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Sam crouched in front of Clint and pushed the big wings out of the way so he could see the damage the Avian had done to the not-a-weed-at-all. “I was staring because you are wholeheartedly destroying what has amounted to eight solid years of careful tending to make this thing grow up so big and pretty.”

“Oh shit.” Clint looked down at the nearly pulled plant and then back up at Sam. “...sorry?” 

“You’ll be getting a bill at the end of the month.” The witch said dryly. “I expect to buy a new blanket for my bed with all the money.” 

“ _Shit_.” Clint repeated as Sam readjusted the plant. “But hey, this is an excellent segue into my next question-- why the hell do you garden so much? I’ve known Earth witches that don’t care this much about weeds.” 

“It’s not a weed, it’s a sweet fern.” Sam inclined his head pointedly towards the carefully written sign planted next to the nearly disassembled plant. “And you know it. Read the signs, Bird Boy.” 

“ _Comptonia peregrina_.” The Avian read out loud. “Eh, well my point stands. What’s with the gardening and individually labeling all your weird plants?” 

“They’re not weird, they’ve been carefully cultivated to thrive in a place different than their natural habitat.” 

“Uh huh.” Clint nodded. “Weird plants. Yeah. So what’s with it? I don’t know many wind witches that like to play in the dirt.” 

Sam huffed a laugh at the mouthy avian, pushed a big wing out of the way and patted at the first around the sweet ferns base. “It’s uh-- it’s nice to create for a change.” 

“What?” 

“Sorry.” the witch sat back, made sure Clint could see him and repeated, “It’s nice to create for a change.” 

“I heard you the first time.” Feathers flicked out and brushed just gently over Sam’s arm, an unspoken _thank you_ from a familiar that had been treated as inconvenient for far too long. “I meant _what_ like _what the hell does that mean_?” 

“It means that all wind does is destroy.” Sam let his fingers trail through the glossy brown feathers before Clint pulled away entirely. “All wind _witches_ do is destroy. We turn the ocean into a storm, a storm into a hurricane. The wind beats against the cliffs until it carves them away, it strips all the beauty from nature-- leaves from trees, petals from flowers. The winds change and people think terrible things are coming…” 

He shook his head. “Everything elemental has a destructive side, but wind _only_ has a destructive side.” 

“I--” Clint frowned. “Fire is only destructive too.” 

“A forest is never more lush than after a fire burns away the branches and allows the sun to shine down to the grass and the flowers.” Sam moved on to a different plant. “Gardening helps me feel like I’m making something beautiful when usually all my power does is wear things down to nothing.” 

The familiar didn’t really know what to say to _that_ , and after another minute Sam started talking again, halting and quiet like the words hurt to say out loud, “Me and Riley were in the army first, back in the early 1900’s. They didn’t like people my color, but so long as I was willing to pick up a gun and march, they didn’t tell me _no_. Met Riley at boot camp, and magic recognized magic so we stuck together. Had each other’s backs through the wars. When the Air Force became a real thing, me and Riley were the first to sign up, first to get in those planes and take to the sky to fly together.” 

“Being in a plane isn’t like soaring.” the witch leaned back on his heels in the dirt, rubbed a hand over his face wearily. “It’s not like freedom and beauty and all the other things I used to love about it. They put us in metal tubes and turned us into weapons. Even when they got us those exoskeleton wings, it wasn’t beautiful it was… it was missions and it was death and it was destruction. They took the wind and weaponized it.” 

Sam swallowed jerkily. “All we ever did was destroy, and after I lost Riley, I decided I was done destroying. No more.” 

_What happen_. Clint signed the words before he thought about it, the first time he’d used sign language in years. 

“An RPG during a flight mission.” A weed-- an _actual_ weed this time-- tore out of the garden, a whirlwind breeze snatching it up and into the air. “Riley got hit, couldn’t shift and free his wings while wearing that exoskeleton and I-- I couldn’t bring the wind fast enough to save him.” 

The air twisted as the wind witch’s grief physically manifested around their little garden plot. “Riley went down, and so did I. I don’t want to fly anymore. I just want to walk, tend my garden and live in peace. No more war. No more weapons. I’m done.” 

The rosebush at the end of the garden row was _beautiful_ , full and robust and in dire need of trimming so Clint shuffled close to collect the blooms as Sam carefully snipped them off, the scent of rose petals blooming thick in the air as they huddled close in the wake of the witch’s unexpected vulnerability. 

Their hands brushed as they worked but Sam didn’t pull away, so Clint opened his wings up a little wider till they hovered around the witch in a cautious attempt at comfort until they’d finished with the rose bush and moved on to the next row of mostly vegetables. 

“Sam.” Clint cleared his throat, dropped his wings a little heavier over Sam’s arm. “If you don’t want to fly anymore, why uh-- why’d you agree when the witches said you needed a familiar?” 

“Have you tried telling those women no?” Sam smiled a little. “They tell me I need something, I just say ‘yes ma’am’ and do whatever they want.” 

“You mean you didn’t choose me for my excellent gardening skills?” Clint budged close enough to bump against the witch. “I’m hurt and appalled.” 

“You’re neither of those things.” Sam kept gardening, kept their knees brushing together and made sure not to move too far so the familiar’s wings would stay over him. “How much do I owe for leering at you earlier?” 

“I _knew_ you were looking.” Clint laughed out loud. “Let’s start at a dollar and go up from there.” 

“A dollar?” Sam dug around his back pocket and grabbed a crumpled one dollar bill, held it up between he and Clint and stared right into the Avian’s gorgeous blue eyes. “Why don’t you run me a tab?” 

The familiar’s eyes twitched yellow and slitted, gold over taking the blue for just long enough to make Sam’s breath audibly hitch. 

“...I’ll see what I can do.” 

*******

Things were easier after their argument about Clint’s hearing, after Sam’s admission about Riley in the garden. Neither witch nor familiar had even _realized_ there was tension between them until it was all but gone, the conversation easier and the jokes faster and the eye contact and flirting and general _staring_ happening without either caring enough to reel it back in. 

Sam went out of his way to accommodate Clint’s hearing loss without making it obvious he was doing exactly that, and Clint breathed easier for the first time in _decades_ alongside a witch that didn’t make his disability feel like a deal breaker. Sam didn’t want to practice magic, so Clint made sure he was just right there to grab for things other witches would have levitated, reading recipes aloud from across the room because he had excellent vision and Sam wouldn’t let the breeze whisper the ingredients and steps to him.

The specific intent to _help_ led to Sam and Clint orbiting each other, brushing close and then closer still, sitting close and then closer again. Sometimes Sam reached out to to steady Clint if the Avian turned too quickly and lost his balance and other Sam reached out just to _touch_. Sometimes Clint made snarky comments about Sam’s muscles, other times the familiar just cocked his head and _looked_ , let his wings snap open in blatant admiration and didn’t bother pretending otherwise. 

“Here’s your wing boner alert.” Clint called one afternoon when Sam came back from his run dripping in sweat and wearing shorts that were both rather North of his knees and also rather shockingly fitted. “What’s up, witchy boy? They don’t make running shorts in big boy sizes?” 

“These _are_ the big boy sizes!” Sam retorted, knowing Clint couldn’t hear him but those hawk eyes could definitely read his lips. He grinned when the Avian laughed in response, ducked inside to clean up a little bit and then rejoined his familiar out in their attempted rock garden to try and clear out the nights invasion of wind flowers. 

“Aw, you put clothes on.” Clint teased and Sam just shoved at him and got to work re-creating the perfect meditation circles with the smooth river rock. It seemed every day he and Clint got closer, the wind flowers bloomed taller and brighter, every time he and the familiar shared a moment that should have been marked by magic, the petals scattered brilliant and careless across the property and piled at the window wills and door jams. 

Even as magic averse as Sam felt most days, the wind witch couldn’t ignore the obvious signs from the elemental arcs, the urge to test his power and let it envelop Clint whenever the Avian smiled at him like _that_ , the instinct to call the air currents and lift them up to soar together. The bond between familiar and witch sparked strong even though they were both ignoring the draw in favor of staying friends, in favor of flirting and lingering and pretending like they weren’t two beings soley created as one another's _match_. 

“You’re a mess.” Sam said today, lifted just enough breeze along his fingers to ruffle through Clint’s wings and clean the windflower petals from the delicate feathers. “Keep it up like this and people are gonna think you’re a flower nymph instead of a bad ass Hawk familiar. Either that or they’re gonna think you’re Bigfoot walking around with your feathers catching sticks and grass. Hold still so I can--” 

The witch stopped talking when Clint jerked back a step, eyes wide and wings held back cautiously. 

“...oh.” Belatedly, Sam realized what he’d done, how rude it was to just mess with an Avian’s feathers without permission, to try and groom the familiar without prior consent or even conversation. “Sorry. I should have asked before touching you.” 

“No it’s--” Clint cleared his throat, then cleared it again, made a quick sign for _fine_ and shook his head. “It’s okay. It’s just that no one’s done that before.” 

“No one’s tried to groom you before?” Sam rubbed the remnant of oil from Clint’s feathers between his fingers. “Why not?” 

“Because no one wants to spend time making damaged goods pretty.” Clint said slowly, flatly, wings shuddering uncertainly and expression shuttered. “I can’t groom them myself and no one wants to help. _That’s_ why.” 

“You’re not damaged.” Sam reached for Clint before he realized what he was doing, called the wind and used the force of the breeze to drag the Avian in closer until they were nose to nose and he could bury his fingers into the feathers closest to Clint’s shoulders. “You’re gorgeous. You and your wings are-- are gorgeous.”

There should have been answering magic from the Avian then, a shift in the air as Clint’s power lifted, a rustle in the trees as their bond surged forward another step. 

Instead Clint wet his lips and Sam’s eyes dropped to watch, Clint inched closer and Sam’s gaze went hooded and heavy as his fingers sank into glossy feathers and scratched gentle at the sensitive skin beneath. 

“Th-this is your warning for a wing boner.” Clint blurted, because he didn’t know what else to say. “Heads up.” 

Sam just laughed and pulled his familiar in until their foreheads touched, breathed out slow and closed his eyes when Clint’s hands landed tentative at his waist too. 

...and sharing a moment like that, sharing a moment of total acceptance after so long feeling invisible or broken or _stuck_ …

...that felt like _real_ magic.

**********

“Sam!” Pepper looked up with a smile when the wind witch knocked at the door of Magic and Magnolias. “How are you? Where’s Clint?” 

“He’s having television withdrawals.” Sam rolled his eyes and Pepper hid a laugh behind her hand. “So he’s eating pizza and catching up on the game at the bar down the street. Silly bird acts like his favorite teams can’t go on without him cheering for them through the TV screen.” 

“Mm-hmm, Clint loves his pizza and TV shows.” the beautiful witch held out her hand for Sam and motioned for him to follow her around the back. “What can I do for you today?” 

“Oh actually--” Sam glanced towards a display of homemade soaps and shower gels. “--Actually I was hoping you had something I could buy to use on Clint’s wings?” 

“His wings.” Pepper’s perfectly arched brows lifted towards her hairline. “Are you looking for something as a gift? Or something for the two of you to use together?” 

“...together.” Sam admitted, and chuckled when her eyebrows shot even higher. “Nosy witch. Yes, I plan on spending some time grooming my familiar’s feathers and I would like something nice to do it with.” 

“ _Your_ familiar?” Pepper clapped her hands together in excitement. “Wonderful you’ve started claiming him. I don’t sense any bolstered magic though, have you two--” 

“Not yet.” Sam interrupted, shook his head when Pepper’s pretty mouth pulled down into a frown. “Don’t do that. Don’t frown. You know damn well I had no intention of working on my magic with a familiar. And Clint is content to just be with me. It’s _nice_ , Madame Witch. It’s _nice_ to have a friend and companion.” 

“Familiars are meant to be more than a companion.” Pepper held up a beautifully crafted bottle of soap appropriate for Avian feathers. “Your magic doesn’t stir at all when Clint is close?” 

“My love?” Natasha called from the back room. “Are you being nosy and meddlesome?” 

“No, darling!” Pepper called back, then pointed a finger at Sam when he laughed at her. “Nuh-uh. None of that. We paired you and Clint because we thought your magic would lift each other up, not because we thought you would make good gardening partners.”

“He lifts me up.” The witch took the soap with a smile. “And my life is better for knowing him. No magic needed.” 

“No magic needed.” Pepper huffed. “The absolute audacity of a statement like that--” 

“Madame Witch.” Sam’s power _flexed_ , the air heating and wind chimes and sun catchers whirling as a carefully controlled breeze wound its way through the shop, delicate along Pepper’s smooth skin and up to brush at her cheek. “We’re fine.” 

“...have you soared together yet?” she wanted to know, and the wind witch called the air current a little stronger, scattering magnolia blooms across the floor. 

“We’re _fine_.” 

************

**Chapter Notes**

> _So I really love the idea of Sam just like “I don’t need magic and I don’t use it” but then using it in all these little ways designed to draw Clint in closer to him? I kept thinking about the MCU scene where he tells Cap that the amount of people giving him orders is down to zero, but then he suits up right alongside Cap and goes to save the world and I thought that would translate into this sort of situation too where he’s like “nah, i don’t do that anymore” but he can’t help who he is. In the MCU, he couldn’t help being a hero and in this verse he can’t help tapping into his magic because Clint draws it out of him so naturally._
> 
> _Also, the theme of how they don’t need magic to heal they need support and friendship? Obviously Falconhawk is falling in love with each other but I kept getting This Feeling that their relationship is a parallel to the idea that platonic love is just as important/valid as romantic or sexual love right? Like people act like the IRL relationship default is sex and romance, and in this verse the relationship default is magic is most important? But Sam and Clint are proving that magic ISN’T the default, that just because they can do magic doesn’t mean its the right thing for them, that the support and friendship and acceptance is more important than whether or not Clint amplifies Sam’s power and whether or not they fly?_
> 
> _Idk, I’m just feeling things about non “traditional” relationships now, ignore my rambling._


	4. Chapter 4

One night close to the summer solstice when the heat had gotten unbearable and evening failed to bring any relief, Sam woke up almost _dying._ There was a heavy weight on his chest, a curtain of black obstructing his vision and for just a second-- for just a _second_ the witch thought he’d summoned a storm in his sleep, thought maybe he’d torn up the dirt and stone that created their home and twisted it into a tornado that was blocking his sight and weighing him down like it had after Riley had fallen. Sam had been so heavy then, so weighed down by guilt and fear and grief and it felt just like this, felt like he was dying and Sam was panicking-- he was _panicking_ and his powers were arcing out of control and he was _dying_ \--

\--and then he heard _snoring._

 _Snoring_ because the witch wasn’t dying and he wasn’t trapped in the dark he was just trapped beneath the world heaviest bird who had apparently decided to _snuggle_. 

“Damn it, Clint!” Sam snapped right back to the present in the very next breath, threw his head back and gasped for air, pushed at the heavy wings surrounding him and summoned a breeze to blast between their bodies and let him _breathe_. 

“Mmmblerghcold.” Clint shivered against the wind and tried to burrow closer against his witch. “What are you doing, what do you people have against sharing body heat?” 

“I have nothing against sharing body heat, but I generally have something against two hundred pounds birds strangling me with feathers!” Sam arched his back to try and force Clint off, wheezed through another attempt at breathing, and spoke right into Clint’s good ear so the Avian would listen. “Listen wing boy, if you wanna snuggle, just snuggle! Don’t sit on me like the world’s most feathery anvil and try to kill me!” 

“But this is how feathery anvils snuggle!” the familiar wrapped octopus like arms around his witch and wriggled closer, utter _deadweight_ with a ten foot wing span that apparently nothing short of a hurricane would budge. “You should be thrilled about this, by the way. It takes most hawks years to warm up to someone, you managed to get on my good side in just ten weeks.”

“This isn’t warming up to me, this is trying to suffocate me beneath your heavy ass.” Sam wrestled and huffed, puffed and grappled, and _finally_ heaved Clint up and off him, pushed the Avian onto the other side of the bed and inhaled sweet sweet air. “My god, man. You weigh a thousand pounds!” 

“Eh, you don’t get a body like this without packing on some serious muscle.” Even in almost pitch black, Clint’s vision allowed him to read Sam’s lips, and he didn’t need to _hear_ to know the words were eight levels past exasperated. “My wings are most of the poundage anyway.” 

“Your butt is most of the poundage!” 

“Nah.” Clint chuckled. “If I could shift all the way--” 

Then the familiar stopped, looked away and swallowed hard and the lighthearted if not _unexpected_ moment between them turned quiet and tense. “Ah, you know what? Never mind.” 

“If you were able to shift all the way, you would either be bird sized and perched on my bed post like a goddamn creeper, or six feet and a few inches of human hot bodied blond, right?” Sam spoke slowly, clearly, reached across the bed and picked up Clint’s hand so the Avian wasn’t just reading his lips but also physically _feeling_ him. “But this way I get the best of both worlds so maybe I should stop complaining about it.” 

Clint made a disbelieving _doubting_ noise, so Sam tugged the familiar in again, brought the wind around the bed so the blankets pushed off and Clint’s wings swept forward to cover them instead. 

“Next time you wanna snuggle, warn me so I don’t wake up and think I’m trapped in a windstorm.” Sam stretched back out on the bed and pulled Clint closer, settled the Avian lower on his chest so the wings weren’t too high by his head, so Clint’s arms were at his waist instead of around his neck, so the bulk of his familiar’s weight was pressed up against his side instead of right on his lungs. “There, isn’t that better?” 

Clint was stiff for a minute, clearly still trying to process the change from what he thought was rejection to full on acceptance. “Sam--” 

“Go the fuck to sleep, wing boy. I’m tired and tomorrow we’re supposed to shore up the garden walls in time for the monsoons. Lot’s of work. Go to sleep.” 

Clint didn’t know what Sam said, but the low rumble in the witch’s chest and the comforting sweep of strong fingers through his wings and down his shoulders said enough. 

He was welcome. 

“You’re super supportive at weird times.” he whispered after a minute. “I didn’t mean to get all shaky and vulnerable right then so-- so thanks for that.”

“Well anytime you feel like being super supportive, I’ll take it.” Sam readjusted on the pillows and closed his eyes. “Fuck knows I’m shaky and vulnerable a whole lot more than I wanna admit lately.” 

In the morning Sam shifted sideways and wrapped both arms around Clint, brushed his lips over the Avian’s forehead and wound their legs together, breathed out slowly and happily because it was nice to hold and be held. 

And the mouthy Avian ruined the moment spectacularly when he mumbled, “Is that a weathervane in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” 

Oh well. Things couldn’t always be achingly sweet and beautifully vulnerable, right? Sarcasm was probably good for the soul. 

Clint moved right in after that, kept a few things at his nest but started sleeping in Sam’s bed, shoved a truly astonishing amount of toiletries into Sam’s bathroom and an equally astonishing a pile of sweatpants all from one particular pizza place into the dresser drawers. 

It was domestic, it was comfortable and more than that, it was _nice_ for a witch that had chosen to be alone and a familiar that thought he was doomed to be alone to find such easy companionship, to find physical affection without having to ask, laughter without having to search, companionship without having to compromise or apologize for what they always thought were shortcomings. 

Some nights they lay together and just talked, some nights they lay together and just slept curled up in each others arms. 

And some nights Sam would slap the wings out of his face and complain about how big they were and how messy the feathers were and how the goddess help him, he never knew birds could shed so much honestly what the _fuck_. 

Those nights Sam shoved Clint down in front of the fire, maybe pushed the Avian back into the pillows on the bend and spent at least an hour working working sweet smelling soap into his familiar’s feathers, untangling and straightening every primary and barb and sinking his fingers into the glossy wings to separate and smooth each piece. 

...on those nights Clint went limp beneath Sam’s hands, the familiar trusting his witch one hundred percent and letting himself float as the air moved soft and warm in gentle currents around them, the moment intimate and breathtaking and _private_ as their bond strengthened and glowed low between them. 

When they sat in front of the fire, Clint let his head rest on Sam’s shoulder and turned his nose to rub beneath Sam’s chin, eyes narrow and golden, making quiet chirps and contented clicks in response to whatever Sam was talking about. 

When they stretched out on the bed, Clint lay face down in the pillows and Sam straddled his hips, let the big Avian take his weight because once Clint had admitted to liking the security of being pinned and ho-ho-holy crap did Sam love to hold the massively powerful Avian down and feel Clint trembling beneath his fingers. 

“Good?” he asked and Clint went just about boneless on the bed, limp and pliant, finger nails curving into talons when he reached back to grip at Sam’s leg. “Good.” 

_...so so good._

The whole point of a witch and familiar spending time together was to strengthen each others magic, to amplify powers and fill in the odd parts of themselves that no one ever knew were missing until they had someone to made them whole.

Of course when neither witch nor familiar was actively practicing magic, when neither had any intention of using their growing bond as a way to strengthen themselves and then each other... well that was when _incidents_ happened. 

“You did it again last night.” Clint said one morning, passing by Sam at the breakfast table and sweeping his wings over his witch’s head. “Got caught up in a dream and damn near hurricaned me right off the bed.”

“Mm--mm.” Sam shoved a big bite of cereal into his mouth and shook his head, mumbling and haltingly signing out a disjointed-- “ _On purpose. Snoring._ ” 

“I wasn’t snoring, I sleep like an angel.” The witch got another wing to the head for his comment, and Clint grinned when Sam batted the feathers away. “Seriously though. Are we going to talk about how your wind powers are tweaking out in the middle of the night and about taking our roof off?” 

“Nope.” 

“Sam.” Clint sat down right next to Sam, wings out over the back of the chairs and knees knocking. “Listen. At first it was cute, like aw the witchy boy is getting breezy. Now it’s getting sketchy though. You aren’t controlling it, and I know I mentioned I wouldn’t mind a light breeze betwixt the--” 

“Don’t say your balls.” 

“--betwixt the nethers, but it’s getting down right frosty these days.” the Avian finished. “Let’s talk about it? This could be your chance to be all shaky and vulnerable with me. My wings can hold you up.”

“Clint.” Sam couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh at Clint’s ever present sass or maybe choke up a little over the offer for support if he needed to be shaky and vulnerable. “Babe, I don’t want to really want to talk about it. Let it go.” 

“I heard you call me babe, don’t think I did.” Clint made a face and tapped his ears. “For the record, I don’t allow anyone to put a label on our activities until pants have come off and we’ve tested each others kissing skills. I’ll let it slide this once but the next one is gonna cost you.”

“Standard one dollar rate?” Sam challenged and the Avian retorted, ““Pet names not directly involving my wings or feathers cost three bucks a pop.” 

Sam grumbled and pulled out a five, pushed it over to his familiar and decided, “Keep the change. And listen, I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about trying to hen started again, “Babe, I don’t want to--”

“Hey.” Clint cupped Sam’s chin and leaned in to crush a long kiss to the witch’s mouth, swept his wings up to offer a moment of privacy and didn’t let up until Sam muffled something low and _wanting_ and kissed him right back. 

They parted only when air became necessary, grins edging towards slightly goofy, eyes soft and fingers gentle where they brushed cheeks and into each others hair.

“What--?” the witch cleared his throat. “What was that for, huh? You think you can just grab me and kiss me like that?”

“For someone throwing around words like babe, you’re awful weird about a smooch or two.” Clint’s feathers fluttered in happiness when Sam left another barely there kiss on his lips. “Now look, I’m the last person to talk about the benefits of practicing magic or anything, but we _should_ have a chat about how us hanging out has made your magic all wacky.” 

“I adore you.” Sam’s touch was almost reverent as he rubbed a thumb across his Avian’s bottom lip. “But my magic isn’t wacky, Clint. I’m just using it a little more lately. 

“The windflowers are growing three feet tall and scattering petals like the apocalypse is coming.” the familiar insisted. “You keep saying your dreams aren’t nightmares, but how come we’ve got tornados whipping through the bedroom? I woke up the other night and I was hovering over the bed. I know you’re supposed to be the wind beneath my wings--” 

Sam cracked a grin and Clint huffed at him, “--I know you’re supposed to be the wind beneath my wings, but I feel like the Madame Witches didn’t mean that literally. I’ve never flown, Sam. Don’t really want to try involuntary levitation while I’m sposed to be snoozing.” 

“Alright.” Sam clasped his hands loosely between his knees and shrugged, tried for patience and calm for a topic that made him feel like he couln’t _breathe_. “Alright Clint. If my powers are flexing without my permission and the windflowers are obviously blooming out of control in response to our magic, what do you suppose we do about it?” 

“We?” Clint raised his eyebrows and Sam signed ‘ _we_ ’. 

“You’re my familiar.” The witch stated, tried to smile like the words didn’t make his heart flutter, like the Avian’s eyes hadn’t shot golden with open approval. “So what are _we_ going to do about it?” 

“We.” the familiar nodded. “Kay. So we should set something up where you can whip out some of those breezy powers and maybe-- maybe in our meditation garden? I don’t have much magic, Sam. Not being able to fully shift and never having had a witch train with me means I don’t have much magic, so maybe I’ll need some help with the meditation circles and a few crystals or something. But I’ll do what it takes to be stable for you. Something solid to bounce your magic off. We’ll figure it out.” 

“I don’t know if I want to fly anymore.” Sam said softly, and Clint said just as softly, “And I’ve never flown at all, so we should be just fine, right?” 

_Just fine._

They tried it at noon when the natural winds were still and the sun hovered in a perfectly blue sky. The day was spent reworking the intricate meditation circles until there was room for the witch to sit cross legged in the dirt, grounded by earth and surrounded by **[green apophyllite](https://meanings.crystalsandjewelry.com/green-apophyllite/)** to cleanse his heart and strengthen the air currents. 

Clint sat in a smaller circle to the side, river rock and **[angelite](https://thecrystalcouncil.com/crystals/angelite)** crystals in his palms to steady his heart and allow him greater clarity to assist his witch. The windflowers stretched tall and blew their petals into Clint’s wings, into Sam’s close cut hair, across their folded legs and whirled above their heads as Sam’s magic sparked and twisted. 

“You got me?” Sam asked, and Clint’s eyes opened narrow, yellow and fully _hawk_ as he nodded, wings lifted comfortingly. “Yeah. Yeah you got me. Okay. Here we go.” 

********

At the front desk of Magic and Magnolias, Pepper put a hand to her heart as her own magic stirred, the feel of another wind witch tapping into their powers for the first time in a long time enough to move her to tears. 

“My love?” Natasha pressed at her hand. “Alright?” 

“It’s Sam.” Pepper whispered. “I can feel him, he and Clint working on their magic together. Finally.” 

“I told you they would be alright.” the little redhead stood up on her toes to kiss her wife. “First they needed companionship, then their magic would follow. Do you feel it in your soul?” 

“Here in my heart, yes.” Pepper closed her eyes, tilted her head to follow the lure of magic. “Wind witches are more connected than the others, I’ve felt his magic growing in the past few weeks. This is wonderful.” 

“I told you.” Natasha said again. “Now, come help me with the newest batch of candles. Leave those boys to their moment.” 

**********

It might have been better if the witches _hadn't_ left the boys to their moment, if Pepper had instead let her consciousness drift and projected the strength of her own power into Sam and Clint. The extra support would have been appreciated, the long distance guidance would have been a relief because right now things at the house by the bluffs were spinning rapidly out of control. 

It happened so quickly, faster than a breath and a blink as the power of _wind_ rocked the Avian familiar to his core and Clint tried to settle himself firmer on the ground, shut his eyes and spread his wings to deflect everything possible to give his witch _strength_. One second it was calm and the breeze was starting to pick up, the next Clint’s feathers were shaking trying to combat a near gust strong enough to knock him over.

It happened so quickly, too quickly--first Clint was focusing whole heartedly on the way Sam’s magic touched right to his soul, on how he’d never felt power like this, had never had a bond that was even close to _anything_ that he had with Sam and then everything tilted sideways. 

One second Clint was chuckling and ready to crack a joke about how Sam had gone from zero to one hundred, from a light breeze to a damn storm in a split second, and surely there was a dick-stamina joke in there somewhere, and in the next second everything went _wrong_.

“Sam?” Clint opened his eyes-- _tried_ to open his eyes-- when the gusts whipped screaming around him, the crystals torn from his palms and uprooted from their meditation circles by a wind-funnel that struck the ground like lightning, tore through the dirt and shredded the windflowers.

“Sam!” The Avian tried to jump to his feet but it was like pushing against a brick wall, struggling against the force of air currents moving fast enough to be solid. His wings slashed every which way, dirt scratched at his face and stung at his eyes and sent tears streaming down his face and it took all of Clint’s strength just to stand and take a step towards where his witch was almost obscured behind a growing tornado. 

“SAM!” The witch was trapped inside a hurricane level whirlwind, silent and still in the midst of a screeching maelstrom and Clint shouted for his witch, _shouted_ and forced his wings down so he could see better, held his arms out against the blast and cursed as rocks richocheted off his palms. “Sam goddamnit, cut it out!” 

In the middle of the storm, Sam’s eyes were open wide, eerie milky white as his magic surged for the first time in decades and arced _chaotic_ from his body. His hands were open trying to channel the storm but it was no use. After so many years suppressed, the wind witch’s powers unleashed uncontrollable, tore up the bushes by the house and ripped shingles from the roof, splintered the glass at the window and tore Clint’s nesting room clear off, sent it whirling in broken chunks of wood and glass and nails into a rapidly forming tornado that grew larger by the second. 

“Ah _shit_.” The sky was getting dark now, clouds drawn to the clearing as the wind tunnel created a vortex and dragged them from the rest of the sky, rain started falling as the clouds piled up and turned _darker_ , ominous and dangerous and rolling with thunder. 

“Shit shit shit!” One step and then two, and it was nearly impossible for the Avian to fight against the storm to get any closer to his witch. 

It was _impossible_ and Clint stared hopeless when the walls of their home began to creak and lean as the tornado grew closer, larger, looming destructive and ready to tear his entire world apart in the blink of an eye. 

_Clint_?

There were no words spoken, but the familiar heard Sam’s voice like the witch was shouting in his ear. 

_Clint_! 

“Sam!” Clint put both hands over his ears to block out the overwhelming roar of wind. “Sam! I can’t get to you!” 

_Clint. Save me._

Sam’s eyes were still eerie white, his hands up like he was trying to hold the wind still. He was failing and he was lost in the whirlwind of dirt and stone, of their shattering home and the always blooming windflowers. 

_Clint. Save me._

“I-- I can’t.” Clint went to his knees in the torn up garden, fell beneath the brunt of the storm. “Sam, I can’t get to you. You’ve got to stop this, I can’t get to you, I can’t--” 

_Fly_. 

“I can’t!” 

_Save me. I’m-- I’m lost._

“I can’t”! Clint shouted, maybe he screamed, maybe he shifted further into hawk and _screeched_ it, talons cutting bloody into his palms and eyes slashing golden as his familiar side surged. “Witch, I can’t-- I can’t fly! I can’t--” 

\--- _fly_. 

It happened so quickly, nothing more than a breath and a blink and the Avian went from screaming terrified on the ground to screaming terrified looking _down_ at the ground from some impossible height. Wings that never once lifted his weight were suddenly holding Clint aloft, beating against the wind and keeping their place, dark brown feathers crackling with new gold the same color as the Avian familiar’s hawk like eyes. 

_Magic_. 

“Oh holy--” 

_Clint_. 

“I-- I’m coming.” Clint turned in the air without conscious thought, simply angled his body and let it happen. His fingertips were buzzing with the appearance of more magic than he’d ever felt, the ever present bandaids on his skin whipped away with the wind and the superficial cuts beneath healing over in the blink of an eyes. 

For the first time in decades, for the first time since before the first time he ever tried to shift Avian, Clint finally felt whole. _Unbroken_. Capable of being the sort of familiar a witch like Sam deserved. 

_Sam_. 

“I’m coming!” 

The Hawk’s body rotated mid air, the brown and golden wings snapped back away from his shoulders and the familiar dove and dove and _dove_ for his witch, faced the storm head on and tore his way through it until he landed with a teeth rattling jolt next to Sam right in the middle of it all. 

“Sam!” The moment his feet were on the ground, it seemed like the storm picked up all over again, like Clint’s wings were buffeted every which way and like he couldn’t _breathe_ through the thickening air currents. He needed to get back up into the air and he needed to bring Sam with him. 

“Witch!” He called again, but Sam’s eyes never changed from that awful all white, the witch’s entire body shaking with the effort of not letting his own powers tear him apart. Sam was _lost_ , his long dormant magic clearly too much for him to use alone, maybe even too much for him to use with Clint at his side until they’d managed some more practice and _yes_ Clint would be open to more practice but shit first he had to save his witch. 

“C’mon I’ve got you.” Sam was heavy but Clint was ridiculously strong, arms and shoulders packed with muscle after decades of carrying the wings around on his back. He hefted the wind witch into his arms and focused-- un focused?-- reached into his soul and found the spark of _magic_ that was suddenly burning too bright to ignore-- and with a snap of massive wings, they were airborne.

… _airborne_ and shooting towards the sky, towards the sun where it barely peeked out from roiling clouds, towards warmth and safety away from the tornado that was threatening to tear them limb from limb. 

“I’ve got you.” Sam was limp in Clint’s arms, the effort of being forcefully extricated from the grasp of magic leaving him nearly unconscious as the Avian carried him up and away from their destructing house and the destroyed fields of flowers. 

“Easy easy easy.” Clint set down near the banks of the lake, landed with a thump but carefully _carefully_ lay his witch out in the windflowers where they bloomed wild near the water. “You with me? Sam?” 

_Clint_. 

“The talking into my head thing is weird.” The Avian chuckled uncomfortably, ran anxious hands over Sam’s chest and up to feel his pulse. “It’s nice to not have to read your lips and get distracted by kissy thoughts but uh-- how long have you been able to project shit into my head?” 

_Clint_ … 

“...you saved me.” wheezing, barely audible and Clint didn’t hear it the first time. He couldn’t hear the words but he felt the vibration in Sam’s chest and his wings opened wide in relief. 

“What the hell man?” Clint bent and kissed Sam right on the lips before he could talk himself out of it. “What the hell. If you’re going to tornado it up, at least warn a guy huh? I wasn’t ready for that at all.” 

“Me-- me neither.” Sam hooked his arm around Clint’s neck to keep his familiar close, to keep the Avian hovering over him with those beautiful wings spread protective and wide. “You saved me?” 

“I guess I did.” Only when Sam’s eyes darkened back to their usual gorgeous tone did Clint finally relax a little bit. “You okay?” 

“...tell me what happened with your wings?” Sam was shaken to his core, still trembling, barely breathing, the windflowers around them stirring with the effects of his anxiety. “Tell me why you’ve never flown when you’re obviously fuckin’ great at it.” 

It was an attempt at deflection, a plea for the familiar to be vulnerable with him like Sam was uncontrollably unintentionally vulnerable right now. 

_Please_. 

“It was an accident.” Clint settled back onto his rear but kept his wings up and shading Sam from the sun. “Or you know, maybe it wasn’t an accident. My old man was a real asshole and messed me up one day. My hearing, my balance.” He coughed, cleared his throat and motioned to his ear. “I didn’t know how bad I was hurt until my magic kicked in and I was never able to shift more than half way.” 

“Why can’t you shift?” 

“Familiars aren’t allowed to hurt themselves.” Clint’s smile was forced, sad as he plucked a petal from Sam’s short hair. “Our magic prevents us from putting ourselves in too much danger, and sometimes we can’t even save our witch if it would cost our life. My injury never let me shift all the way cos an animal missing their sense of hearing is the difference between life or death. Can’t risk it. And uh-- I keep my wings out in human form cos it helps with my balance. Helps me feel less… cloudy.” 

“You never--” Sam sucked in a deep breath as the bands of panic around his chest finally loosened. “You never tried before today?” 

“Nah.” Clint brushed his feathers gentle gentle over Sam’s side. “Never had a reason to try.” 

“Can’t let life hold you back.” 

“Yeah well, you’re one to talk, windy boy.” 

Then Sam whispered, “I kept thinking about how I failed Riley and I lost it. Lost the wind. I’m sorry, it got out of control before I could stop it. I just got lost, man. All the memories came up and got me and I started thinking I’d fail just like I failed that day and then--” 

The witch closed his eyes again. “--Then I did. I failed. Sorry, Clint I-- I got lost.” 

Clint pushed their foreheads together, kissed his witch and shook his head, whispered back, “Not lost babe, I got you.” 

“But next time--” 

“Next time I’ll get you too.” the Avian promised. “We’ll figure this out. It’s new magic for me too, we’ll figure it out. Promise.”

“Okay.” Sam finally relaxed, nervousness and anxiety melting away as their bond glowed warm between them, witch and familiar finding common ground in their fears and taking steps away from it _together_. “Thank you.” 

They were quiet for a long time, holding each other and letting the barest summer breeze calm what was left of the storm. Only when he’d finally settled and felt ready to deal with some sass, Sam finally grumbled, “Seriously what the fuck is up with all these flowers? They are _everywhere_.” 

“Oh imagine that.” Clint brushed a pile of flowers off Sam’s chest and out of his hair, laughed when the witch’s nose wrinkled in annoyance. “It’s almost like your windy ass attracts windy ass flowers.” 

“Windy ass…” Sam chuckled and pulled Clint back into a grateful kiss. “ _Watch_ it, feather head.” 

***************

_Epilogue_

Late summer came to Magic and Magnolias with the promise of cooler temperatures and soothing breezes. The flowers had bloomed and were shifting away now, the trees were heavy with apples and the bushes fragrant with berries. 

This time of year was beautiful, calm as the tourists left the town and returned to the bigger cities in the South, slow as the local witches and familiars gathered a few supplies for the coming winter and retreated to their homes to build fires and study their potions before the winter solstice festival. 

From the front porch of Magic and Magnolias, Natasha swept away the brightly colored autumn leaves and Pepper switched the lighter summer wind chimes out for delicate pieces that looked like gossamer rain drops and translucent fruit.

“You’ve outdone yourself with that design.” Natasha admired her wife’s handiwork with a proud smile. “Absolutely lovely. And speaking of lovely, have you seen your most recent favorite match?” 

“I have.” Pepper watched with nothing short of adoration as Sam and Clint came down the avenue and paused to buy a few apples, the Avian dropping a kiss on his witch’s cheek and Sam stirring up the breeze around their feet until flowers circled around and landed in Clint’s feathers. “They are so beautiful together.” 

“Very beautiful.” Natasha agreed. “In fact they may be our finest match...yet...” 

Something else down the street caught the Madame Witch’s attention, and she paused mid sentence, green eyes narrowing and magic sparking irritably at her fingertips for a long moment before she asked, “Pep, when was the last time you spoke with the little healer witch, the Parker boy?” 

“Peter?” Pepper shrugged and hung another windchime. “Last Autumn perhaps, why do you ask?” 

“The daffodils are blooming wild again.” Natasha murmured, the words infinitely ominous as she looked up into the hills where neither witch nor human strayed. “It’s time to try and reach him.” 

“Oh no.” Pepper followed Natasha’s gaze towards the tops of the mountains, her lovely features washing pale. “Be careful into the hills, my love.” 

“For there the dragons sleep.” Natasha finished the ancient rhyme, one she’d known since her first day as a witch, one that was more curse than blessing. “Call for the Parker witch, my love.”

“Already?” Pepper hesitated. “He’s so innocent, Tasha.” 

“Call for him.” Natasha said again, her fingers curling tight around a heavy key hanging at her neck. “Tis high time he met his familiar.” 


End file.
